Listen to poem:
Old Farm Hat
My old farm hat wears
its scars on sleeve.
Mended rough and ready
for all to see is heroic deeds
in tussles with cows, bulls and trees.
Its soaked soft in sweat, mellowed with dust.
Patched with bits of other
old hats that have fallen apart, passed it.
Sewn with old leather throngs
through holes punched with a knife.
My old hat is as much a part of me
as my skin, burnt leathery brown
and scarred with age.
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